


Camden Town is falling down.

by sleebyama



Series: Blinder Slice of Life [5]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie Solomons Centric, Canon Rewrite, Fuck you canon, Gen, Henry/Arthur Centric, London/Camden Town Centric, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-05-20 06:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleebyama/pseuds/sleebyama
Summary: Henry follows the Shelby brothers to a Camden town because he's a London born boy with knowledge of the streets and some insight about the war between Solomons and Sabini.It would be simple really, but Tommy is adamant on gaining ground in Camden Town and if Henry was being honest to anyone that asked, he didn’t quite like Sabini and his men and their holier than thou attitudes despite them not giving a shit about queers in their clubs.





	1. Chapter 1

Henry follows the Shelby brothers to a Camden town because he's a London born boy with knowledge of the streets and some insight about the war between Solomons and Sabini. He's visited Club Eden before, when he was younger, wilder, when Sebastian dragged him out so he could let loose and find a boy or three to have fun with since Sabini didn't give two fucks about queers in his club.

They walk past two men kissing in the doorway, not even bothering to hide themselves. He feels a bit more at ease there, for some reason, despite now being on the wrong side of the line. Despite being there to help Tommy Shelby send his message. Tommy chases a man and woman from their table. John orders a bottle of whiskey from the waiter and Arthur yells at him.

Henry waves at a few boys he knew from a while ago who seem to recognize his blonde hair and blue eyes despite everything that’s changed, before the war had taken them from being carefree. It was one thing to be carefree about liking men before the war, after it, it was something completely different. John laughs from the table as a pair stumble past. 

It would be simple really, but Tommy is adamant on gaining ground in Camden Town and if Henry was being honest to anyone that asked, he didn’t quite like Sabini and his men and their holier than thou attitudes despite them not give a shit.

A fight breaks out when one of Sabini’s lieutenant's tries to make the leave politely, Henry mostly ducks out of the way, he takes a few punches but doesn’t really throw them back, mostly to look out and patch up the boys if necessary.

Surprisingly, yet unsurprisingly, the Shelby brothers come out without a scratch. In his excitement Arthur grabs him and almost, almost yanks Henry into a kiss before they remember where they are. 

So far, business expansion is good. 

 

* * *

 

Henry is walking home with Tommy when Sabini’s men strike. Tommy gets his mouth cut, a tooth ripped out. Sabini’s henchmen takes a knife to Henry’s shoulder and his chest, grinning all the while. The blood rushing through Henry’s head is so loud he can barely hear what Sabini is saying to Tommy, the only thing he can hear is Sabini’s cocky tone, and then a bang that startles him and Sabini’s henchmen so badly that Henry falls flat on his face.

Henry comes to with Arthur holding his hand. 

Arthur holds his hand so tightly that for a second, Henry’s fingers feel like they’re trapped and breaking. He groans and tries to lift his head. 

“Don’t move Hen.” Arthur mutters softly. Arthur immediately moves from the chair he’s sitting in to grab Henry by his shoulder and stop him from sitting up.

“Arthur.” Arthur shushes him gently and rubs the back of his hand soothing it. “Your brother. How’s Tommy, Sabini got to him too?” Henry’s voice comes out weak and croaked.

“It’s alright Hen, you’re both alright, Tommy’s in the next room over.” Arthur drags his chair closer and leans down to kiss his hairline. 

“What happened to Sabini?” Henry asks weakly. Arthur shakes his head. There is no answer for what happened to Sabini, but it was the police that brought Henry and Arthur to the hospital. Henry was better off than Tommy was, a few slashes across his chest, shallow and half-hearted. Tommy had a concussion, the inside of his mouth cut, a missing tooth, bruised ribs and a sore ankle that had him limping whenever he tried to stand and take a piss.

Arthur can’t stay with him all the time, but two Peaky Blinders are situated outside his door for security and Tommy’s paid off a few of the hospital staff, so Arthur can leave him with a peaceful mind, lacking worry. Then Tommy decides to drag him down to Camden Town while they’re both still healing, without Arthur or John or any muscle to come out alive. Maybe it’s a bonding experience over Sabini attacking the both of them? Maybe it’s Tommy using his assets to the best of his ability. Either way Tommy is the reason he gets introduced to the man that is Alfie Solomons. 

Alfie Solomons is untidy, uncouth and pretty much an animal, with his shirt rumpled and ruffled and an apron tied around his waist but he's a fucking riot. He's smart, plays people to think he's a bumbling idiot. Alfie Solomons wouldn't be one of Tommy's biggest interest if he wasn't smart. Henry can’t find it in himself to hate the man when he points a gun at Tommy because Alfie Solomons, is funny, is a multitude of things. Alfie Solomons was in the war, Henry knows, Henry remembers when he was first drafted. 

The only reason Henry wasn’t with Alfie’s unit is because the Small Heath Rifles were down a field medic and Henry had his hands free, twiddling his thumbs around the camp, still fresh-faced to the war. Alfie seems to recognize him, or at least realize he’s a Londoner who visited Camden Town quite a bit before the war. 

Henry listens while Tommy talks business, all polite and firm smiles, while Alfie is suitably rumpled by the fact that Tommy has balls. 

“Aye, it’s time to have some whiskey then?” Tommy asks when the business concludes. Alfie just laughs at him but pours them a bit of whiskey anyway. It’s not until business talk has ceased and Tommy has tucked his coat firmly back around his shoulders that Alfie turns his attention over to Henry.

“Who are you then? You’re not a Shelby brother.” 

“That’s right, he’s not.” Tommy intervenes smoothly. Henry rolls his shoulders back and leans back in his chair with an arm crossed over his stomach.

“Henry, pleasure to meet you Mister Solomons.” Henry holds his hand out for a handshake. Alfie stares at it for a good minute before taking it and shaking slowly. 

“Have I seen you before somewhere Henry?” Alfie drawls, raking his eyes along Henry’s features.

“I can’t think of where you would have.” Henry answers. Alfie’s siblings went to school with him for a semester, but he’s never met the eldest Solomons. Even then that was almost two decades ago, he doubts that Alfie would remember anything about him, Alfie had finished school with Henry only graduating three years later. Alfie lets the topic drop and he takes another drink. Tommy’s eyes dart around the room curiously. 

“You used to go to the clubs with the Camden Superior boys.” Alfie blurts out after a moment of silence, leaning forward in his chair over the table. Henry swallows the whiskey in his mouth and his glass thunks pointedly against the wood of Alfie’s table. Camden Superior being the school in Alfie's territory that he graduated from. Henry's surprised Alfie even noticed.

“Haven’t done that in close to a decade Mister Solomons.” Alfie stares at him like he’s trying to pry his secrets from his brain. 

Tommy looks confused, glancing between the both of them before he stands and intervenes and Henry's glad for it. “Alright. Henry, we’re needed back home.” 

Alfie’s hand brushes the small of Henry’s back when they’re escorted out of the door by both Alfie and Ollie. Tommy lights a cigarette as Tommy walks in the opposite direction of the docks.

“Thought we were goin’ home Tommy?” Henry jogs to keep up with Tommy.

“I’ve got to speak with Ada first.” Tommy says smoothly before he takes a drag of his cigarette. 

 

* * *

 

Henry’s associated a lot of colours with Arthur. 

There’s the blue of his eyes, bright when he’s happy, dull and pale when he’s sad. Deep when he’s relaxed and just a sliver of blue when his pupils are wide. Pinks and reds are associated with Arthur’s scraped and scabbed knuckles, the flush of his cheeks when he’s embarrassed, angry, upset, scared. The pink swipe of his tongue when he’s searching for things to say. Then there’s a colour he can’t name a chocolate colour or a brown that’s his hair and his freckles that endears Henry so much to Arthur that it hurts. 

Arthur’s face is flushed such a deep red that for a second, Henry thinks he’s bleeding. The fireplace is blazing fiercely, dangerously. Shards of broken glass are scattered next to the fireplace from what had to be the broken whiskey bottle. He heard the crash just as he walked into the Shelby home after passing Thomas outside on the street. 

Arthur’s curled in the chair, sobbing with an ugly curl to his mouth, cradling his head in his hands. Henry kneels in front of him, sliding his hands over Arthur’s knees slowly. 

“Arthur…” Henry hesitates. Arthur lifts his head and blinks, tears drip down his cheeks so slowly. 

“You’re my head Hen… I can’t think, I can’t hear any of it.” Arthur weakly explains. Henry softens, leaning forward between Arthur’s knees and he reaches out for Arthur’s face, taking it in his hands.

“You’re alright Arthur. You’re alright.” Arthur shakes his head in Henry’s hands. “I promise ye love, I’ll be yer head if you promise to keep your heart about ye.” Arthur’s hands tremble where they lay in his lap. 

“We’ll be alright.” Arthur repeats in a croaked voice, it’s half-hearted and small, but his eyes are soft and the corners of his mouth are turned upwards in almost a forced smile. There’s a glisten in Arthur’s eyes as the fire from the pit reflects in them and Henry leans forward to kiss him, as slow and as deep as he can manage.

The taste of salt and whiskey mingles on Henry’s lips, but Arthur kisses back.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy brings him down to Camden Town for a second time to sort out Billy Kitchen and his brigade of men. Henry’s mostly there just to keep an eye out for Billy’s wound just in case rot sets in, but it’s a bit of a ride, watching Billy corral his brigade of men, to see Tommy in action— to see Alfie Solomons in action. 

“All right, boys. You’ve now all been enrolled as bakers in the Aerated Bread Company of Camden Town.” Tommy begins. “If anyone asks, that’s what you do. You’re  _ bakers _ . The coppers in Camden Town are on our side, but north or south, you show them that piece of paper. Tell them you’re fascists if you have to. Now we’re finding lodgings for you but, for now, you’ll sleep here in the bakery.”

With a glance at Alfie, Tommy adds. “But don’t touch any of the bread, it’ll most likely explode.” It gets a chuckle out of Henry which garners Alfie’s attention for a split second before the man turns his attention back to Billy Kitchen’s brigade. 

“Any questions?” A hand is raised. “Yes?” 

“I haven’t even seen any bread.” The room fills with a small round of laughter before Alfie Solomons clears his throat and saunters forward with his cane in his hand. Alfie Solomons whacks a man so hard with his cane that his mouth is bloodied in one hit. Tommy holds an arm out to stop him from stepping forward and checking on the man. 

“He’ll wake up.” Alfie mentions nonchalantly like he’s talking about the weather. “Granted he won’t have any teeth left but he will be a wiser man for it, and the last thing he will remember is your funny little joke.”

The room goes silent.

“Won’t he? Right!” Alfie turns to face the whole room. “There are fucking rules here. Yeah, there are fucking rules for a fucking reason.” Alfie drawls. “Quite simply they have to be obeyed. All right? Rule number one. The distinction between bread and rum is not discussed.”

Alfie Solomons’ tirade about rules makes him snort with a hand over his mouth.

“Rule number two. Anything right, that your superior officer says to you, or any of your other fucking superior officers say to you, yeah?  _ Not fucking discussed!” _ Alfied raises his voice until it rings out in the room.  A laugh actually escapes him when Alfie yells that he’s “a complete fucking sodomite.” Alfie glances over to him, like the snort and laugh is not what he expected directly after smacking his cane into someone’s face for laughing. 

Henry thinks he might just get along with Alfie Solomons then Tommy tells Henry they need to head back to Small Heath. 

 

* * *

 

 

What is a fucking surprise for Henry is when Arthur drags him into the family meeting in the betting and no one protests his presence despite him not being married in like Esme, or considered kin like the rest of the Peakys.

“Tommy, get on with it.” Polly says with a wave of her hands.

“Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram to say it was Sabini who ordered it.” Tommy begins.

“And it says here that Thomas Shelby's next.” Arthur grumbles, ripping up the telegram in his hands.

“If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us. Sabini knows that. So we need to get the Green sorted out.” Tommy nods absentmindedly and turns to look over to Scudboat. “Scudboat, you and one of the boys. Break a couple of windows and get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it.”

“Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?” Chuckles fill the betting room. “What? Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I'm still on a donkey.” 

“All right, just get yourselves fucking arrested, it doesn't matter how. And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid.” Thomas says gruffly. “We'll start a fund for his family, Pol.”

“Agreed.” Polly darts her head over to the door. “So is that it? Can I go now?” 

“Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend 1,000 guineas.” TOmmy says before she can walk towards the door to take Michael to the museum. 

“On what?” Polly asks, surprise lighting up her face.

“On a horse.” Tommy answers.

“That's right.” Polly tilts her head to the side like she’s pondering the idea before she looks around the room. Henry shrinks a bit underneath her stare, hiding slightly behind Arthur with a hand on his shoulder.

“When was this decided?”

“You've been busy with Michael.” Tommy mutters as an excuse. 

“Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea.”

Tommy tucks his hands into his pockets as he straightens his back. “Polly there's a thoroughbred quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Blood Stock.”

“What do we want with a 1,000-guinea horse?” She shrilly exclaims.

“When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches,” Tommy says with a very slight unintentional condescending tone. “Any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police. A good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure.” 

“We'll be in there with all the toffs. Coppers won't know where to look.” Arthur tacks on casually.

“Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol.” John mutters.

“We'll be drinking with the bloody King.” Arthur adds with a grin, adjusting his suit jacket lapel. 

“The Derby? Did he say the Derby?” Polly’s voice hurts Henry’s ears for a moment, before she stares at Tommy for an answer.

“That's right. For the last ten years Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there as a symbol.” Tommy’s hands are still tucked into his pockets. Henry thinks he looks mighty casual for the way Polly is starry at him , but he keeps his mouth shut, because Polly might just be the tiniest bit scarier than Tommy sometimes.

“Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?” She exclaims as she looks around at the lot of them.

“Pol a good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio.” Somehow though, Tommy seems to always be able to break her resolve, because she sighs after a moment and looks at him with firm but relenting eyes.

“So when is this sale?” She asks.

“Tomorrow.”

“And Tommy's had a death threat so we'll have to go with him for protection.” Arthur tacks on while leaving his hand on top of the one Henry’s placed on his shoulders, linking their fingers together.

“So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss-up and blow 1,000 guineas on a horse that's not even whole Arab.” 

“Quarter Arab is better! Quarter Arab, it means.” Curly butts in from next to Charlie.

“Curly, shut up.” Curly steps back behind Charlie just as a familiar face comes to stand at Henry’s side. Michael has his hands tucked into his coat pockets, looking sheepish as he meets his mothers eyes.

“I thought I told you to lock that door.” Polly snaps, darting her eyes to Michael, shifting her weight on her feet like she wants to move and drag him out of the room.

“He did. I used the key on the nail. Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them.” Michael claims. His tone is polite, as he faces Polly waiting for an answer. Henry can admire the balls on the kid, not even eighteen yet and already smiling like his cousins. 

“You see?!” Polly exclaims, gesturing towards Michael with her hand. 

“I love horses. I could even help.” Michael protests. A part of what he says has him glancing over at Tommy. Back in France Arthur mentioned how Tommy loved horses, maybe Tommy could, would, convince Polly to let him come with.

“Over my dead body.” Polly snaps.

“It'll be all right, Mum.” Henry softens behind Arthur when he hears the soft, pleading note in Michael’s voice. He steps forward so that he’s closer to his mother, looking at her with soft eyes. “I've been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle. They're very respectable. People bring their butlers.”

“Yeah, and their posh wives!” Arthur chimes in with a nudge to Henry’s shoulder. Arthur glances up at him and Henry smiles back, curling his fingers tighter around Arthur’s.

“And their mistresses.” John adds. “Let him come, Polly. We'll go there, buy an 'orse, come back. I'll drop him back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark.”

“No. Fucking no.” Polly says firmly, shaking her head. Tommy nods, eyeing Michael and Polly before he picks the cigarette he left burning out on the table and brings it back to his lips. 

“All right, that's it. Back to work. Come on!” Tommy orders with a wave of his hands. Arthur stands from the chair, taking Henry’s hand in his and pulling him close to press a quick kiss to his cheekbone. 

“Aunt Pol, when I was Michael's age, I'd killed a hundred men and seen a thousand die. If you want to scare that kid away for ever, carry on how you're going. If you want him to stay, let him come.” Henry vaguely hears John say as Arthur gazes at him with soft blue eyes. 

Arthur’s mouth turns upwards in a smile and he gets tugged out of the betting room. They’re not really meant to be slacking off when they’re supposed to be working, but Arthur sneaks them up to his room and closes the door shut softly so that no one realizes that they’re in there. Before Henry can make a noise Arthur’s lips are on his and they’re stripping out of their clothes for a quickie while stumbling back towards the bed.

Tommy can get mad at them later. 

 

* * *

 

 

Henry has maybe been to two horse stock auctions in his life. His parents weren’t fans of the animals, and when he’d gone to live with his cousin Sebastian, and then by extension his sister in law, Natalia, he had spent more time partying and being a wild child than he had focused on animals. So when he follows behind Arthur up to the overhand so they can watch the horses get walked around the stand, he feels aggressively out of place and he doesn’t like it.

The people there are just like the horses. Considered to be prime stock. Like Tommy, like the lady who’s staring at Tommy from across from them while Tommy leans one the railings. Like the men who are staring at how close he and Arthur are standing together with their pinkies brushing together.

It’s gross and unnerving.

Either way he entirely believes it when Curly starts muttering about getting a bad feeling, because he has one twisting in his gut. He doesn’t say anything though, because sometimes it’s bad luck to acknowledge that something is about to happen, also he doesn’t want the gruff shut up coming from Arthur to be directed to him. 

It doesn’t really make sense though once the filly that Tommy wants is walked around the sand, because the only bad thing that happens is that Tommy spends about twice as much as they wanted to spend, because the lady opposite them is sizing up Tommy like he’s a meal.

Tommy leads them through the corridors so that they can go get the horse registered to Charlie’s yard. The walls are a brown hue that makes him think of the old terracotta roofs in London near where Sebastian lives, but it clashes horribly with the green panelling. Arthur tugs on his hand and keeps him back from following the group. They stand together, Henry standing between Arthur’s legs in an empty corridor while the other Blinders sate their curiosity and Tommy deals with business.

“Maybe it’s her I had that bad feeling about.” Curly mutters to Tommy when they’re walking out.

“Well thank fucking God I have no interest in women then.” Henry chuckles quietly from behind curly. Arthur hears him and laughs along with him, taking his hand for a split second and swinging it between them while they walk. The woman from before kept Tommy interested in a conversation for at least five minutes, which was more than Henry’s ever seen Tommy give someone ever since Grace. Still, they’ve got their horse and now they need to get Michael home before Polly has their balls for keeping him out past dark when he’s not eighteen yet.

Still, the curling concern and doubt doesn’t disappear from Henry’s stomach, so he holds Arthur’s hand while they step across the sand which is fine, until it isn’t.

Tommy’s name gets yelled once, by an assassin, then twice, three times from Arthur, John, Michael and Henry as guns are drawn and Arthur is immediately putting himself between Tommy and death.

The assassin was one of Sabini’s officers, Sabini’s right hand man. Henry only really recognizes him once Arthur is dragged away from him by three of them. The man’s face is bloodied, destroyed. Arthur bit off his ear before spitting out. John and Charle deposit Arthur into his care at the deepest section of the truck, with their backs turned for a sense of privacy when Arthur curls and doubles over to hide his face and bloodied hands into the chest of Henry’s shirt

 If Henry closes his eyes, he can still hear Arthur screaming like he did, roaring in defense of his little brother. 

They get dropped back to Henry’s flat in silence, Arthur is trembling slightly with Henry’s arm around him.

Arthur’s fists are bloodied, blood is smeared on his collar, across the corner of his mouth. Henry sits him down at the edge of the bed and crouches in front of Arthur with a worried frown. Henry wipes at Arthurs mouth with the edge of his shirt sleeve. When he leans in to kiss Arthur, Arthur turns his head away.

Henry kneels between Arthur’s legs and runs his hands along the curve of Arthur’s knees slowly.

“You’re okay love, I swear it.” Henry looks up at Arthur. Arthur stares back with soft eyes, like he’s lost. Henry can’t read them at all. He squeezes Arthur’s knees and leans forward until he rests his cheek on Arthur’s thigh and sighs softly. Arthur cards a hand through his hair, smearing blood on the strands. 

They’ll be okay for now. They’ll be okay. 

 

* * *

 

Tommy gets busy… Or something or rather, but he’s hardly is ever around and when he is he has bags under his eyes and he looks stressed. Henry’s worry isn’t ceased when his questions are brushed off with hums and grunts, but if it’s Irish business he best not meddle before he gets a target painted on his back or Sebastian’s. And that’s what Tommy said he was dealing with. Irish business.

Either way Henry still tries his best to help Tommy and Arthur run shop. Tries to help keep Arthur in line, despite the snow. In his spare time when he's not with Arthur, he's down at one of the jewelers that isn't controlled by the Peaky Blinders, his hat tucked away neatly.

Henry wants to marry Arthur. He knows he's necessarily not allowed to, knows the coppers would toss them into the Green because of it, but he still wants the rings, wants to put them on Arthurs finger and pretend for a moment that he can indeed marry Arthur without repercussions.

Eventually Tommy does catch him out on all of his business, confronts him by calling him into the Shelby Company Limited offices for a meeting. Henry strolls into the room, squashing down the nervousness in his gut as he fingers the small velvet box that sits in his pocket.

"How's Arthur?" Tommy pours them both a glass of whiskey.

“He’s good. We’re good.” Henry slips his hand out of his pocket to grasp the glass of whiskey from Tommy. 

“Pol said you asked for your pay a day early, said you had something important you needed it for.” Tommy sips at his whiskey with a pointed and curious look. Henry reaches into his pocket for the small velvet box that hasn’t even been kept away in his flat yet and runs a thumb over the texture of the lid. 

“It is important,” Henry said finally, bringing the box from his pocket. “Had to have something to give him if I asked?” Tommy’s face flickers between concern, shock and a blinding smile, before Henry is dragged into a tight hug with Tommy squeezing his ribs.

“When are you asking?” Tommy asks when he finally lets Henry go. Henry’s eyes flutter and he looks down at the velvet box in his hands. 

“Not yet, but soon.” He answers, rubbing his thumb over the textured material. “‘M waiting for the right time.” Henry doesn't know when that'll be, but he knows that once he's holding Arthur, he knows the time will be right. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy takes Henry down to the bakery before he’s supposed to be meeting his cousin for a weeks worth of holidays. Henry waves at Solomons from the docks after a quick conversation about dogs and the small kennel at the end of Solomons' territory, nods to Billy where he stands on the staircase after checking that there's still no rot in his wound and it's healing well and lets Tommy pat him on the shoulder. Tommy lets him take a week off to go see his cousin, without business attached, so he can see the only blood he has left, understanding the importance of family. 

His cousin Sebastian grins at him for the doorway with open arms as he strides up to the doors from the carriage. His wife, Natalia is lingering behind him. She kisses Henry's cheek when Sebastian lets him go and ushers him inside. 

“How is it down in Birmingham? you don't write. you don't call.” Sebastian chastises while lifting his hat to try and ruffle his hair. Henry chuckles and ducks out of the way before he takes his cap off, folding it so that the razor blades aren't in view. 

“I'll write more I promise. I got the week off so I'll be here till Sunday.” His cousin beams so brightly, for a moment he thinks the sun has come out in London, before Sebastian is ushering him towards the parlour with demands to hear more about Birmingham and his friends.

They go out for dinner that night, at a nice Italian restaurant where Henry has to keep his cap tucked into the inner pocket of his coat so that the people who he knows are Sabini's men won't recognize him. He has some spaghetti while Sbeastian digs into a steak and Natalia picks at her food while they chatter about his life in Birmingham.

"Have you met those Peaky Blinder fellas then? Since they run the town down there?" Sbeastian asks in a hushed tone, like he was sharing something scandalous.

Henry only chuckles and brushes his hand against the lump that is his hat in his coat. “No.” He lies, ducking his eyes from his cousin. He doesn’t want to worry Sebastian since his cousin was reluctant on letting him stay away from London. “I spend most my time at work, don’t really worry too much about other things… Staying out of trouble mostly.” 

“Well that’s good.” Natalia says sweetly as she takes a sip of her wine, her accent rolling neatly off of her tongue. “Seb would have a fit if you were getting into trouble where he couldn’t help you.” Her red lipstick leaves a clean imprint against her glass as she pulls it away from her mouth, but the colour has barely left her lips. She swirls her wine in its glass and sets it down. 

“And any girls? Boys?” Sebastian adjusts the napkin in his lap. “Surely there’s someone keeping you away from home.” 

Henry props his cheek against his knuckles as he pokes at his spaghetti with his fork. Arthur is in the forefront of his mind, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile. Sebastian gives him a knowing chuckle and it puts a blush on his cheeks.

“There is? There is!” His cousin leans forward in his chair excitedly.

“Who are they? When can I meet them?” Sebastian says eagerly.

“Not anytime soon Seb.” Henry laughs and reaches out for his own drink, hiding his smile behind the glass.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian takes him to Eden on his third night of his break, with the promise of music and dancing. Natalia is dressed in fine silk, a feathered boa wrapped around her neck and arms. Henry’s got a new black suit, and his cap is settled firmly onto his head as Sebastian and Natalia leads him into the club. It’s bright and golden and loud. Everyone is dancing, men, women, swaying and swinging and laughing with each other with flutes of champagne in their hands and the women have strings of pearls around their necks.

He finds a boy that reminds him distinctly of Arthur through the crowd, and sidles up to him with a grin on his lips. He laughs with a twinkle in his eyes and his surprisingly dainty fingers curled around a flute of champagne. 

“Are you new here?” The boy calls out over the music. His eyes are a deep brown, when they catch the lights they sparkle brightly. 

“Visiting for a week.” He replies. He takes his hand in his and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Henry.”

“Taavi.” He giggles and slides off the seat he was delicately balanced on. Taavi pulls him to the dancefloor with the flute of champagne still between her fingers. He drinks while he dances, twirling with ease around his arms. He’s missed this, he hasn’t danced since before the war. 

“Do you like dancing Taavi?” He finally asks when he twirls back to face them. His suit  has feathers stitched into the the line of it.

“I dance every night.” Taavi throws his head back while he steps with the music and laughs. 

“Such a shame, I’m only here for the night.” Henry teases as he steps to the music, raising his arms to twirl Taavi around the dancefloor. Just as he’s spinning to meet Taavi and turns his head, he catches identical hats pour through the doorway, rushing in with the crescendo of the music. He stills, scanning the crowd for Sebastian and Natalia. Taavi stops as he does and the scream he lets out chills him. 

The punters that rush in are boys that he recognizes, fucking Blinders and Black Country boys hitting their fists into anyone they can get their hands on. Natalia whips past him, her feathered boa catches his eye and he snatches his arm out and catches her wrist.

“Natalia, where’s Sebastian.” He asks as he scans over the heads of the people in the chaos, he counts eight caps, that’s sixteen razor blades not including his own. He spots his cousin being headbutted, grabbed by the lapels of his suit jacket. He herds Taavi and Natalia to the edge of the room as best as he can before he darts back into the fray. He grabs the punter’s jacket and tugs him off.

Reginald stares back with wide eyes. “Henry?” He yelps, bewildered. 

“Hands off him aight.” He shoves Reginald away. “My cousin, you back off.” Reginald nods and skitters off to join another fight. He drags his cousin over to Natalia and Taavi with a mutter to stay low.

“Henry they’re Peaky fucking Blinders.” Sebastian warns as he grabs his hand and tugs him back. Henry was hoping to keep him out of all this, keep him from finding out that he was involved with the Blinders. 

“Remember when I said I was goin’ to Birmingham to find some friends from the war.” Sebastian’s eyes widen. “I know them Seb, I can handle Arthur Shelby anyday.” Sebastian nods shakily but he lets go slowly with fear evident on his face, letting Henry pull his hat from his coat as he walks away from his grip to turn towards the chaos.

He knows the man standing at the microphone, knows the gravel of his voice and the way he growls, “By order of the Peaky Blinders”. 

“ _ Arthur fucking Shelby! _ ” Henry screeches, storming across the dance floor towards the stage. Arthur snaps his head around faster than he thinks is possible, whipping his hair across his face as he straightens. 

“Hen!” Arthur bounds down from the stage excitedly. Henry rubs his nose, and raises the back of hand, showing off the smear of blood. “Tommy let you come down afterall then?” 

“No? The fuck did you think?” Henry huffs. “I’m on holiday Arthur, Tommy let me come down to visit my cousin for a week. No business, no problems.” He glances back over his shoulders to check on Sebastian and Natalia. Natalia is dabbing a torn slip of silk from her dress over Sebastian’s face, dabbing at his bloodied nose.

“Then… what’re you doing here?” Arthur follows his gaze over to the pair. “Who are they?” 

“I’m dancing Arthur! On my break, with my  _ cousin _ Sebastian and his  _ wife _ .” Henry crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt is dotted with blood,  _ his new shirt _ . “Who Reginald fucking headbutted because you can’t control your boys!” 

“Henry!” The cry comes from the other side of the dance floor, where he  _ did not _ leave Taavi to be safe. Taavi rushes towards him, interrupting his staring contest with Arthur, he clutches onto his arm. Taavi searches his face worriedly, before he notices Arthur standing with his mouth slightly parted and Taavi moves to hide behind him instead.

“Taavi I want you to go wait with Natalia, can ye do that?” He gestures over to Natalia and Sebastian. “They’re my cousin and his wife so you can trust them.” Taavi nods up at him hesitantly before he takes quick steps over to them, the heels on his dress shoes clacking on the dancefloor.

“Who’s the fella.” Arthur asks with a tone of bitterness in his voice. Henry stands up straighter, wiping the blood on the back of his hand onto his trousers.

“Met him today, he wanted a dance.”

Arthur stays silent, his eyes darting over to Taavi before an air of uneasiness envelops him. “Alright then. I’ll let you get back to your break then.” Arthur rumbles gruffly, turning away. 

“Arthur.” Henry darts a hand out and grips onto his wrist, turning him back. He runs the pad of his thumb over Arthur’s scraped knuckles. “Let me patch you up at least.” Arthur shakes his head and turns away, pulling his hand from Henry’s grip.

“S’no need. Go back to your dancing.” Arthur mutters.

“Arthur don’t be like that.” Henry huffs, watching Arthur’s back. The line of Arthur’s shoulders is set stiff, tense underneath his suit jacket. “It was just a bit of dancing Arthur.” 

“Don’t be like what.” Arthur hisses tensely. “We ain’t nothin’ Hen, s’obvious you can do what you want.” 

Henry grits his teeth, hurt clutching at his gut before he narrows his eyes on the curve of Arthur’s shoulder. “Right. If that’s what ye want.” He turns away and stalks back over to Sebastian, Taavi and Natalia. Sebastian raises an eyebrow questioningly, while Natalia continues to wipe at his nose nervously.

“Can you take Taavi home Seb? He’s surely shaken by tonight.” Henry murmurs apologetically, leaning over to take Taavi’s hand in his. He squeezes it comfortingly, before he gestures towards the door. “Boys won’t hurt ye, I swear it.”

“What about you Henry?” Sebastian cranes his neck to stare over to where Henry is sure Arthur is standing. “What are you going to do? Aren’t you coming with us?” 

“I have a fucking Shelby to deal with.” He grunts, pulling his cap off of his head to push his hair out of his eyes. “Please. And Taavi, I’m sorry we didn’t get to dance more.” Taavi shakes his head gently, before he steps up towards Henry and kisses him on the cheek. Henry can feel the glare Arthur’s giving him while Taavi steps back from him and gives him a small smile.

“It was nice meeting you Henry.” Taavi murmurs shyly and steps back. Natalia threads their arms together before the three of them stride out of the doors. Henry takes a deep breath, steeling himself before he spins around to stride over to the boys, huddled together. He can see three gashes at least, two bloodied noses.

“Alright you fucking hooligans, line up and let me patch you up, I’m assuming one of you got put on doctor duty.” He huffs. Sure enough, someone brings his bag forward, re-organized haphazardly. Henry pinches the bridge of his nose, before he gestures to the first Blinder to sit down. 

“I ask for one week off for a holiday, and the lot of you somehow, somehow manage to fuck it.” Henry bemoans, pointing at the boy in the chair in front of him threateningly with his needle before he gets to work, stitching up the gash on his forearm. “One of you make sure Arthur comes down here and gets patched up yeah? You can pull him out of his shit for once.” He grumbles without looking up, his voice stern with no room for argument.

“I’ll get him Henry.” John pipes up from his left. “After you patch these boys up.” 

 Slowly, the line of Blinders that are injured grows smaller, until he’s left with just two. The others linger around, staring around the dancefloor of the club. 

“Will the lot of you just, clean up the mess you made?” Henry huffs out, half-filled with frustration. “You lot wanna take a business, gotta make it business ready. Start cleaning.” He dismisses them with a wave of his hand. John barks out orders once he goes back to stitching and spilling whiskey over the ugly gash across one of the Blinder’s noses. 

“Sorry for ruining your ‘oliday Henry.” Billy Kitchen offers up from next to John. “Tommy said you had time off.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t really go back to the house now anyway, Natalia is going to have a go at me for putting Seb in danger, and she is terrifying when she is angry.” Henry shrugs and waves the last Blinder away. He turns to John. “Where’s Arthur, I saw him headbutt someone, he has a bloody nose and scraped knuckles at the least.”

John’s face falls and he diverts his gaze.

“John, don’t go soft on me yeah, just tell me.” Henry urges. 

“He’s with some girls, went to one of the back rooms that had a bath.” John blurts out, ducking his face. His stomach clenches, as he lets out a breath and sighs. 

“Right. That’s… that’s fucking fine. Make him come find me later yeah, I’m gonna get me a drink.” With that he stands from the table and shoves his equipment away from him and strides straight to the bar. He hops over the counter, searching the shelves until he spots a full bottle of rum. 

Rum. Rum is his fucking favourite, always has been and always will be. Henry pulls it from the shelf and it makes a loud noise as he places it on the bartop none too gently. He’s three quarters of the way through the bottle when Arthur strolls into the main dance floor of the club with his shirt thrown on haphazardly and his trousers barely buttoned properly about an hour and a half later. 

The closer he gets, the more distinct the smell of alcohol, cocaine, sex and sweat is on Arthur’s skin, until Arthur is standing in front of him on the other side of the bar. Henry doesn’t lift his eyes to look at him, he continues to drink his rum, and refills the glass when it’s empty despite Arthur gripping onto the bottle. 

“Why’re you still here Hen?” Arthur grunts with a sniffle. Henry’s angry with him, angry with himself, angry at the velvet box hidden among his things that he brought with him, too worried that Arthur would find it in his flat regardless of how well hidden it was. Henry swallows the spit that gathered in his mouth and stands, with the bottle of rum and hops back over the bar. Henry sways for a moment, feeling light-headed before he strides for the stage with the instruments. He drops himself onto the leather seat of the grand piano he’d been eyeing ever since he got into the club. The bottle of rum finds itself onto the music stand, and he drops his fingers to the keys.

Henry plays hesitantly, pressing at keys slowly to build a melody. He plays the first few bars of one of the few songs he can remember, before he starts over less hesitantly. If he sits here, maybe Arthur would just ignore him and go back to his girls, then Henry can make his retreat without looking weak. Without looking like he expected more than he deserves. His playing as he lifts his head from the keys. “Came to you with a broken faith, gave me more than a hand to hold.” His voice trembles and cracks, hoarse from the burn from the rum, when he shifts to press a new set of chords, Arthur's head perks up from across the room.

 He plays the wrong sequence of notes, and flinches when his singing stutters because of it. "Caught before I hit the ground, tell me I'm safe,” His voice rasps across the room, from the drink and the fact he hasn’t sung since Grace had come and gone in their lives.

"Would you take the wheel? If I lose control?" Henry lifts his head from the piano keys with a little more confidence. Arthur stares at him from across the room, leaning against the bar with hooded eyes directed straight at him. "If I'm lying here, will you take me home?" He meets Arthur's eyes head on as he presses through the chorus, well aware that the other Blinders are watching him play, whether or not they know he's directing all his angst towards Arthur is another story. 

"Hold the gun to my head. Count one, two, three, If it helps me walk away, then it's what I need." Arthur's face softens, lines of worry evident. "Every minute gets easier, the more you talk to me, you rationalize my darkest thoughts and you, set them free." He misses the next key, and the next one after, his own throat closing up as he fumbles through the next line of his words. His fingers shake, before he stands from the piano and reaches for the bottle of rum, ignoring the fact that the Blinders are obviously ignoring the tension between him and Arthur. Henry takes a swig of the rum as he ducks his head so that the others don’t see the tears that start to spill down his cheeks while he stalks off.

Henry stumbles through the door, his free hand wiping at his eyes as tears spill from them. He wipes at his face, breathing heavily through gritted teeth berating himself internally for being so sensitive as he heaves the bottle of rum across the room impulsively. It crashes against the wall and drips down the paintwork onto what looks like an expensive rug. He slumps back against the closed door, sinking down to the floor to put his head between his knees. 

A soft knock on the door tears him from his self-pity and tears. Henry looks at himself in the mirror on the other side of the room, taking in his disheveled appearance before he wipes at his face with his sleeve and runs a hand through his hair to try and make himself look presentable. He pulls the door open, a firm "What do you want?" ready to fall for his lips when he meets Arthurs bloodshot eyes. 

Arthur gapes, taking in his appearance while Henry's heart clenches with hurt. "Henry I..." Arthur trails off helplessly, his hands itching to reach out towards Henry. Henry stands still, speechless, hands useless at his sides as Arthur and him stare at each other. 

"Henry." Arthur tries again.

"Sorry." Henry shakes himself from his thoughts and steps back from. "Guess you want me to patch up that eyebrow of yours don't you." Henry mumbles, scratching the back of his neck nervously.  He steps further back into the room to let Arthur in. Arthur slips in and closes the door behind him, the click shut sounding loud in the silent room.

Henry steps to the side, towards the table, pulling the chair from it to gesture for Arthur to sit down. Arthur moves without protest; obediently sitting down on the table and tilting his head for easier access to the small gash on his face. Henry stands still, distracted by Arthur's dishevelled appearance before he remembers he doesn't have his things. He goes over to the door, only to poke his head out and yell for his bag.

The Blinders are quick on their feet, a pair of them bring his bag over with their heads lowered. They thrust the bag forward and retreat immediately after he takes it from their hands. 

Henry steps back into the room. Arthur is completely still, his head still tilted as he was. Henry steps over to him, placing the back through it before he sets out a needle and thread, still in their sterile packaging onto a table. He doesn't have his rum to pour over his handkerchief; so he goes over to the ice bucket that's in the room, mostly melted, but a bottle of champagne sits in it innocently. It's better than nothing.    
Henry pours the champagne over the handkerchief, spilling it all over the carpet in the process. Arthur hisses when he presses the handkerchief to the gash, but doesn't pull away. 

"You really should be more careful." Henry chides in a gentle tone, instinctively, wiping across the gash to clear some of the dried blood. When the handkerchief leaves Arthur's eyebrow, the gash is mostly clear of blood, only just large enough to be needing butterfly band aids rather than sutures. 

There is no sarcastic quip or witty response from Arthur about being careful and taking care of himself. Arthur only nods obediently and lowers his face; leaning his cheek into the palm of Henry's hand and lingering there. 

He starts on the gash, letting Arthur’s cheek lean into his palm while he does leans in close. Arthur gives only a few hisses of discomfort and stays silent through the whole process, until Henry smooths his thumb over the band aids and thumbs Arthur’s brow softly. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Henry asks, pressing his hand to Arthur’s side, feeling across his ribs. 

“No. I’m not.” Arthur shakes his head and leans back in his chair. Silence fills the room for a moment, as they stare at each other back and forth. Neither of them try to speak, while they’re leaning towards each other at the table. Arthur’s hand finds his on the table and he takes it slowly and tentatively.

“Arthur…” Henry says without meaning to. He's lost in the blue of Arthur's eyes, how gentle they are, how soft they look now. Arthur's fingers curl against Henry's own. Henry;s heart is thumping widely in his chest as he leans over the length of the table. The palm of his other hand touches Arthur's cheek gently as he kisses Arthur.

Arthur kisses back almost instantly, his free hand coming up to cup Henry's cheek and hold him close. They kiss until they're both breathless and gasping for air. 

The look Arthur gives him once their eyes meet has his heart clenching once more. His pupils are pinned, blue ring wide around his eyes. Henry gathers Arthur up into his arms,wrapping his arms around Arthur sweetly while pressing his nose into Arthur's hair.  

"Hen." Arthur mumbles. Henry hums and shushes him softly, breathing in the stale smell that lingers against Arthur's hair, it's a mixture of alcohol and sweat and a sickly sweet soap. 

"We'd best be getting to bed love." Henry says softly, running his fingers through Arthur's hair. Arthur goes with him willingly, pressing his nose against Henry's throat. He won't lie to himself. He feels safer when he has Arthur next to him, more stable, like he's not drifting in and out of his own dangerous thoughts, he hopes that Arthur feels the same. Arthur breathes evenly against his throat, making the skin of his throat feel the slightest bit damp and it feels comforting rather than sticky and uncomfortable. Henry turns his head on the pillow he's using, curling an arm tighter around Arthur's thin waist. 

Sleep takes him, to the sound of Arthur’s even breathing. He dreams of Arthur’s heartbeat in his ears, his heart still thumping in the beat to Arthur’s breaths. 

  
  


* * *

 

_ Somme, 1916 _

 

The first time he sleeps next to Henry, they’re cold, sore, exhausted, their voices hoarse. Arthur bundles down next to Henry and Tommy and Danny, pushing their packs so close together they’re on top of one another. Henry’s on the outskirts of it all, so Arthur pushes his pack closer to Henry and pulls the blanket closer and presses into Henry’s side without a word.

Henry lifts his head from where he’s shivering in the cold. His clothes are damp, the fire they’re surrounding is burning low and they’ve been ordered to let it burn out, lest they risk discovery. Arthur hesitantly lets his hand rest on the top of Henry’s outstretched leg, thumb rubbing over his thigh.

The fire burns out slowly, the rest of the Small Heath Rifles drift off and their eyes close. Their breathing evens out. Alfie meets Henry’s blue eyes in the dark, barely lit by the dying fire. Henry’s eyes are glassy, bottom lip trembling and his whole body is filled with tremors from how cold he is. 

Arthur pulls him closer, feels Henry’s hand find his under both their blankets. Their hands rest between their thighs, Henry leans into the heat he radiates. Something about the way Henry leans into him has his body settling. The ache in his muscles seems to slip away, like the good stuff from the doc.

Tommy wakes them up before the rest of the unit, with a knowing smirk on his face and a hand shaking Arthur’s shoulder. Henry rubs his eyes blearily and makes a sleepy noise that has Arthur feeling his cheeks go pink. It’s cute, he thinks as he starts to wrap his blanket back up to keep away in his pack.

Henry curls over in his sleepy state and flips Tommy off, before he reluctantly gets up anyway. He beams, when Arthur holds out his hand to help him put away his blanket in his pack. It shouldn’t make his stomach feel warm, but it does.

 

The second time Henry falls asleep on him, Tommy is hurt and laying in the med tent. Henry’s been working tirelessly making sure that Tommy’s not permanently injured from the collapsed tunnel they dug him out of. Henry falls asleep on him literally, face pressed into his arm. Tensions had been high for the last 12 hours, so Arthur doesn’t mind when Henry slowly tips over in exhaustion against him.

He can see Henry’s freckles on his cheeks, smattered across his sunburnt skin. There’s light dustings of strawberry blonde stubble across Henry’s cheeks, he hasn’t shaved in a week but his hair is so light it barely looks like he’s growing out a beard. Arthur chuckles to himself and touches the line of Henry’s jaw slowly and curiously.

Henry shifts slightly in the tent. They’re the only three there for now. The rest of the Small Heath Rifles are outside, Freddie, Danny, Jeremiah and Sudboat all pacing with worry. Arthur’s chased them out, with their loud, worried drenched voices lest they wake Tommy before he recovers from the tunnel collapsing on his head.

He’ll tend to them later, reassure them that Henry’s done enough. In this moment, he wants the ache and worry to leave his bones. His arm fits perfectly around Henry’s shoulders. His lower back aches and he shifts, eyeing Tommy’s sleeping frame, before his eyes flick back to Henry’s furrowed brow, still worried despite being asleep.

The war’s fucked, but they need to keep on.

 

The third time Henry sleeps with him, it’s raining, wet, cold. The mud squelches underneath their bodies as they try to get comfortable despite the worsening weather. They’ve partnered up, and Arthur partnered up with Henry faster than Tommy could partner up with him, leaving Tommy partnered up with Freddie and hiding under what little shelter the decayed tree they were hiding under provided. 

Henry doesn’t get too warm, shivers in his sleepy motions and tucks the blankets further around his shoulders. Arthur hates the way he can hear Henry’s teeth chatter halfway through the night. He ends up wrapping himself around Henry and for once he doesn’t care that people may talk. You don’t care, when you’re cold, wet, tired and hungry. 

Things are different in the war. Things make sense. You don’t turn down comfort and warmth. You don’t turn down something that helps you sleep at night. Henry presses his face into the curve of Arthur’s shoulder in his sleep and Arthur lets him, stroking the top of Henry’s wet hair as the rain continues to beat down.

The weather is shite, so is the war, but Henry’s starting to brighten up the war in ways Arthur isn’t expecting. 

  
  


* * *

 

London, 1921

 

Arthur wakes up feeling more content than he's ever been. Henry turns his head and catches sight of blond hair swept into Henry's eyes. The blond is still asleep, chest rising and falling steadily while his arm is curled firmly around Arthur's waist. Henry’s always been a sound sleeper, since they started sharing a bed. He himself has been sleeping better with Henry next to him. 

Arthur sighs softly and presses his lips, soft and gentle on the curve of Henry’s shoulder before he slides a hand over the jut of Henry’s hip and rubs his thumb over henry’s skin. It’s nice like this. Waking up with Henry in his bed. Waking up loving Henry.

He never expected this was where he would be in the future when he was a boy but it was good. It made him feel fucking good. Henry made him feel like he was normal. Like he wasn’t so messed up from the war.

Tommy told him to close the door on the war but Henry’s the one who makes it easier on him. 

Arthur presses his chest closer to Henry’s back, pressing his face into the curve of Henry’s shoulder to breathe in his cologne. Henry is his constant. It’s no wonder that Henry is the one who takes care of him. It’s ingrained in Henry to look after the people he cares about, but he knows that their bond started the night they sat together and looked at the stars.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Henry is sleepy eyed when he wakes up, eyes red rimmed once sleep clears from them. Arthur watches as he stretches across the mattress and rubs at his face, before turning over and finding Arthur next to him. The look on Henry’s face is satisfying, it’s joy and love, in spotting Arthur still in bed. Arthur leans in and kisses him, he can’t resist the small pout Henry gives while still sleepy. 

Henry kisses back enthusiastically, hand coming up instantly to cup Arthur’s cheek and shift closer to Arthur in the bed. Henry doesn’t want to leave the bed, Arthur can tell, and neither does he if he’s being honest with himself. Arthur smiles against Henry’s lips and slides a hand to grab at Henry’s hips, pulling him closer beneath the covers.

“Morning love.” Arthur rasps once he’s broken the kiss. 

“Morning.” Henry replies. His voice is swamped with sleep, but he sounds satisfied, like a cat that’s gotten the cream as he gives Arthur a shy smile.

It’s five in the morning when Arthur glances at the clock. Too early for them to be awake. Enough time for them to pull the covers over their shoulders and head back to sleep. He pulls Henry close and hugs him, presses his face to the crook of Henry’s shoulder and breathes in.

Last night was a harsh reality, seeing Henry cry for the first time since both he and Tommy went home. Henry’s hurting from how he acts, he won’t admit it openly but Arthur sees it. “M’sorry lovely.” He says into Henry’s shoulder. Henry hums, chest vibrating against him.

“What for?” Henry pulls back to look at his face. Arthur flushes, cheeks warm as he lifts his free hand from under his body and strokes the side of Henry’s cheek.

“It ain’t right, me rounding on you for dancing with someone, not with the way I’ve been going on.” With girl after girl and snow fuelled decisions. Henry’s smooth expression falters, insecurity evident without needing to voice it. It hurts to know that his actions have contributed to that insecurity in Henry. Arthur shuffles as close as he can to comfortable hold Henry in his arms, kissing Henry’s temple.

“You can’t just stop. People will notice.” Henry shrugs. “When people notice you’ll get hurt.” 

“I don’t care, I can take it.” Arthur retorts while petting his hand softly up and down the length of Henry’s side. Henry blinks, once, twice before he nods and lowers his gaze. 

They haven’t addressed all the issues surrounding them, they’re not even close, but, Arthur thinks as Henry shuffles and buries himself deeper into the mattress, his eyes fluttering back close with a stiffled yawn, it’s a start and he’ll fight to keep Hen even if the world’s against them. 


End file.
